Born with hair of a lighter brown,
A gentle soul in his quiet town,
He walked alone where visions spoke,
Through heavy air and battle smoke.
No crown of gold or feathered crest,
No tales of war upon his chest,
Just one lone feather was in his hair,
And lightning painted bright and bare.
Not born to rule with a chief's command,
He won the hearts of his own homeland,
From Rosebud's heat to Bighorn’s sound,
He guarded all he walked around.
He shared his meat, he fed the poor,
And kept the winter from the door,
A shelter for the weak and small,
He gave his heart to save them all.
When worn by hunger, cold, and tear,
He brought his people home from fear,
Yet freedom could not be contained—
A soldier's blade, a sudden stain.
He fell not broken by the foe,
With quiet courage, letting go,
A wild, free spirit, brave and deep,
Who gave his people space to sleep.
Now laid to rest where whispers keep,
In secret ground he takes his sleep,
Near Porcupine Butte's lonely height,
Hidden safely within the prairie night.
We were taught that battles are of steel,
A clamour of voices in a distant field,
The geography of the external threat ,
A name of curse , a debt to be collected.
We hone our wit like a sharpened stone
To crack the shell of a neighbour's ego,
To point out the cracks, the small
inconsistencies ,
Thinking this is how a victory is built,
One defeated conversation at a time.
But it is a shallow house that stands on smoke,
Built by the one who points the shortest finger.
For true architecture is done in quiet dark,
Not on the map but in the muscle of the heart.
The deepest and most perilous topography
is the intricate labyrinth of our own self,
The architect knows the final enemy,
He sees the vast and creeping edifice,
The great, formless thing within that whispers:
Build for me. Point the finger outwards,
Forget the cracks in your own foundation.
To face this shadow is a secret war,
Where we learn to use the chisel on ourselves,
To chip away the structures of conceit
And stand, not in victory over another,
But simply and purely with the truth.
We are all fighting
our own battles from within
forever living
You have gained your popularity but what was your purpose?,
What was more important.. your ego or your service?,
What love has filtered through your devotion and time?,
When you're left all alone was your Master in mind?,
Can you serve without recognition from the masses that see?,
Do you secretly put your heart on the line without doing it publicly?,
Is what is left done between your God and you?,
When no one is around only He knows why you do what you do?,
Because your constantly renewing your heart and mind to Him alone,
Without any outside interference or opinions or control....
Through the plains and valleys they creep,
Throwing away their lives for man’s desire.
With death and hope in tow,
They carry the burdens of countless nations,
Believing in something so far away —
Be it the freedom that evil holds hostage
Or the greed of a single man.
And still they battle in those treacherous lands,
An anguished, silent cry as they wish for their loved ones
Far away in their homelands, waiting for them,
Singing prayers and praises in their stead.
Calloused hands that were beyond wear and tear,
And weapons imbued with the strength, blood, and tears.
The fallen lay, blessed by God,
While the others hide from His wrath.
But all shall be in vain, for His eyes still watch us from afar,
And they shall all beg for Him when the time comes.
When they know that they shall fail,
They speak with pitiful remorse about their lives:
“May the good God bless us through this war.”
By Jahnavi raj
Sleep wont come, nights are never ending.
Beyond all the pain my spirit is descending.
You ripped out my heart. I am an empty vessel.
Devotion, and feelings of loathing, both wrestle.
Your hateful, bitter words on my soul left a stain.
I showered you with love, you greeted me with pain.
So many questions, my tortured mind is ill at ease.
The man of my dreams, now impossible to please.
Toxic thoughts encircle my mind like a plague.
Shell shocked and shattered, my feelings are vague.
I cannot comprehend why you lost all control.
Leaving a void, an abyss I am no longer whole.
Memories are so clouded of that fateful night.
Bewildered why you lashed out, was it all in spite?
Visions of you laughing at me behind those bars.
My broken body lays dormant covered in battle scars.
I refuse to be known as a victim of violence.
There'll be no labels. A survivor, without silence.
You took all the love, an abundance I had to give.
Maybe this time I wont be so quick to forgive.
The Song: Battle Scars The writers : Guy Sebastian & Lupe
Engineer & singer : Jemma
Copyright © Speaks Volumes | Year Posted 2023
I love my friends.
I said a solemn vow to myself to protect them.
I ordered that if I can't be the best man I can be to all, I might as well be a protector.
Some days I wonder where we will end up in 10 years,
Looking into each other's expressions.
I just hope I meet them with a smile on my face, and that in the end I dont give them a reason to dread me.
Some days I worry, though.
I worry my love is not enough, or is too much.
I push so hard, I worry about shoving relationships off the edge.
I'm not exactly sure why the people who claim to be friends hang around me.
Its another thing Ive struggled on.
I see myself as a man stranded in a fresh ocean, with no water to drink.
Ignorant to all my own problems.
But I dont get how others can see me different.
I look in the mirror and see the dark circles under my eyes, the coffee-stained yellow teeth, the gray dead eyes that show im in pain.
But one day, I asked my friend what he saw.
He told me “I see the soldier that got to come home”
And since then Ive always wondered..
What war did I fight?
In a world that demands perfection's might,
We hide behind a painted light,
Smiling lips and twinkling eyes,
Conceal the storms that rage inside.
Anxiety grips us like a vice so tight,
Depression tangles our thoughts in endless night,
Yet we carry on, day after day,
And find a way to face the fray.
Wearing a mask, pretending we're fine,
Hiding the pain that we can't define,
But deep inside, a voice does cry,
Let me be me, and let my true self fly.
Within the chambers of our mind,
Shadows loom, a troubled find,
Anxiety and fears entwine,
Depression whispers, (You're not fine.)
In solitude, these shadows grow strong,
Feeding on doubts that linger long,
But let's remember, we're not alone,
Mental health matters, it's time to make it known.
Reach out for support, lend a hand,
Together, let's break this heavy stand,
You're not alone, dear heart, it's true,
Seek help when your soul's flame is through.
Sometimes, I do opine
To secure, to establish my rights;
Peace is an eglantine,
Advising to cease the age-old fights.
We all become a pensive pendulum
Between human rights and pure peace;
This dilemma must, must be overcome;
We must, we need, we'll obtain bliss.
In the era of such decadence,
We need to claim our rights;
Still, bereft of over-confidence,
We can cease our prolonged fights.
We do, we do need an antidote;
What can it be then? What?
Let's not become a stupid scapegoat;
We must try none to hurt.
As long as we all do exist,
There must be both war and peace;
Ourselves we must restrain and resist;
Philanthropy brings us bliss.
GO AHEAD, MAKE MY DAY!*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There once was a squirrel named Clint,
who lived in tree branches in Eastwood near Flint.
With an armored tank near,
he ruled without fear,
for in Eastwood, with his reign Clint was content.
The rabbits did quake in their burrows,
while Clint fired acorns like arrows.
“Your cheese is certainly no match,
for my tank’s bulletproof with a perfect hatch.
Remember, I’m king of these woodsy meadows!”
So, if you should wander through Flint,
and see Clint with his tank beat up and bent,
just remember this tale,
of nutty squirrel with acorns to impel,
who fancied himself a powerful prince!
Some still say repentant combatants can’t change,
Though thought to be tamed, they tread a thin track.
When many men mock them, madden, and malign,
They charge with chained choler, yet sworn they stay still.
Fighting foes find few among people preaching peace,
Before battles, they brood, bound by belief.
For futures frame fates none should tether with tears,
While miscreant multitudes menace, unmoved.
Yet years yield younger youths yearning for clear change,
While some soldiers still battle before bold chiefs,
Who wait with well-wrought wisdom, woven in their hearts,
And teach these truths to teenagers in tents.
They need no news anew to nourish their truths;
They tell them to teachers teaching timeless tales.
Some still see storms of sorrow shaking them,
While we wait, they torture their truths with tears—
Torments that mar mortal minds with mournful wails.
I cannot be judged by looks alone,
Not by the glitter when I smile and shine.
Beneath the light, I carry pain unknown,
Yet still, I seek to brighten this world of mine.
Does the spark I give bring shadows near?
Perhaps in sadness, hope and strength appear
On a Carnival Night
Maybe I mean to smoke
might not style and steams
legs of metal and four bearded
heart pumps blood and builds me
source code to see stomping grounds
stuff pulls me to an empty head
soul and chance to become realized
smart women on my ass about it
see stop is called never do I listen
cowboy faith and escaped memories turn
bulking brothers exit to drawn messages
door slams in heat meet true winners
body of smell and head tripped up or sideways
stand right in front but I don't see you
know I need to quit back goals and reality of for casted
fame to bridge together more good habits
now and then we repeat the same thoughts
to move to it or act housed and sad the grab
light up pull on the things and breath out again...
You smell like sweet roses,
But I've smelled the sweat of the weak.
My sight is as keen as an eagle's eyes;
I see the chains, rusted from years of injustice, binding the meek.
Segregation tried to tear us apart;
Tried to break our spirits, but we stood unbroken.
Like Carlotta Walls, I keep my head held high,
Disregarding the lies.
Even when the ground is unstable,
I feel the weight of all the cries,
But still, my will is unshakable.
Racism tried to steal our pride;
It tried to silence our voices,
But the roar in my protests shakes the sky.
Is it pain that makes you shy?
We taste the bitter ash of sorrow,
Long, hard fights.
I hear the whispers of a dream—
Thunder-loud, like the King's words shaking the nights.
The statues speak, but they are silent.
They don’t tell the battles we’ve fought,
The struggles we’ve survived.
Segregation tried to tear us apart;
It tried to divide us, but we remain unbroken.
Yet here we are, stronger than before.
Like the Proclamation’s call, we break the chains;
The day will rise — not just with light, but with our truth.
If instinct could alert beforehand;
Reflecting moments as all stand...
The ought process of echoing mind,
For rights to get wrongs tightly bind-
Assign each voice unto confident tears,
Without been paired with fearful glares.
That, would make a day so bleak off sorrow,
And elegant enough to seek anew cum morrow.
If patience could read through broken glass...
Flexing with a system depicted 'separate class'
That wants eyes to angerily view patience broken,
Just to steer up choler; a muted but flaming token
Which once activatd, consumes the rationally pierced soul
Ought to be veiled intensely for light to be made whole.
If peace could silent memorable pains,
Of a bad day's night battles off stains...
Eyes and dreams won't be easily drifted apart
Like storming mind wreck drowning heart...
And wonder if lonely night of each bad day could come alive
Before dawn without partying, yet make sound sleep thrive.
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